If at first you don't succeed
by The Sangheili Mutant
Summary: The SAMCRO vice president once said that "Sons don't kill themselves.". What he didn't realize was that Juan Carlos 'Juice' Ortiz didn't consider himself one of the Sons. Not anymore. Slightly AU. 3rd person point of view. Warning: character death.
1. Chapter 1: Deserving Nothing

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in this story. They belong to the wonderful mind of Kurt Sutter, and the brilliant actors who portray them.

A/N: Flashbacks and thoughts will be italicized.

A/N 2: set during 4x8 "Family Recipe" and 4x9 "Kiss", with references and flashbacks to 4x7 "Fruit for the crows", 4x6 "With an X", 4x5 "Brick", and 4x3 "Dorylus"

Chapter 1: Deserving Nothing

He constructed the noose; a simple task, sure, but Juice took his time with the chore, as he did when sewing on the _Men of Mayhem_ patch.

In every fiber of his being, his heart and soul, he knew he was undeserving of the patch. Hell, he was undeserving of the club! He was a ratting, lying, betraying coward.

His cell rang again. Chibs. He knew the Scottish member of SAMCRO was worried about him. He knew Chibs looked out for the club as if they were his flesh and blood brothers. The phone stopped ringing and he was half-tempted to answer it before Chibs finished leaving his message…just to hear his voice before he ended his life.

He coiled the chain around his neck; the cold chain perfectly mirrored is innermost feelings of being imprisoned…imprisoned by his fears, his paranoia.

His phone rang again. This time, it was the sheriff. Couldn't that guy take a hint? He didn't answer when he was sewing on the patch he didn't deserve, and he sure as hell wasn't about to pick up the phone now!

"You're not taking down my club…" he whispered, looking down at Miles' grave. "Shit, Miles. If I see you in the afterlife, I hope you can understand why I had to." he said, choking up near the end.

A tear was forced out as he blinked, and it plummeted towards the day-old grave. He exhaled a shaky breath, mentally preparing himself to follow the freshly shed tear. Before he even knew it, he was falling. As the chain prevented his dive, it tightened around his throat, squeezing his neck like a hungry boa constrictor.

His hands instinctively went up to the chain, trying to pry it away even though it was the last thing on earth he wanted. His lungs were burning, trying to draw in much needed oxygen. As starved neurons started randomly firing, Juice experienced many symptoms of cerebral hypoxia (deprivation of oxygen to the brain) including drowsiness, rapid heartbeat, and muscle spasms.

"_Clay wants ye in the chapel." Chibs said. Juice nearly ran him down as he turned the corner, face-to-face with a statue-like Scotsman casually leaning up against the wall._

"_What for?" he asked, taking a step back. Chibs just shrugged, and Juice could feel him staring behind his sunglasses. Not wanting to keep the President waiting, he left for the chapel._

"_What's up?" he asked, announcing his presence as he stepped into the chapel._

"_Shut the door." Clay replied, heading to his seat. Juice did as he was told. When it came to the club, he always did what he was told._

"_Have a seat." Clay said, already seated in his throne. Juice started for his regular spot at the table. "No." Clay barked, a little annoyed. "Over here." he continued calmly, motioning to the Sergeant-at-Arms' seat. Juice sat down, ignoring how wrong it felt._

"_You know, most days this life is just running around and getting' shit done. Some days it's more than that. Some days we ask our guys to do shit very few men could do." Clay said. Juice was about to ask why he was saying all of this when Clay placed something on the table. He glanced down and saw the words '_Man of Mayhem_'._

"_That's what this means." the President explained. Juice felt his insides knot up, and the taste of bile clung to the back of his throat. _

"_The way you handled the Russians, this hard thing with Miles…I'm proud of you." the older man said._

_If only Clay knew what he had done to the club, was still doing to the club by being alive._

_As the guilt started piling up, Juice was surprised he was able to force a smile, half-hearted as it was. "Thanks." he forced out, the word feeling stuck in his throat. Clay leaned forward, forcing the two to make eye contact._

"_And now you need to put it behind you. You understand me?" Clay asked, voice taking on a gravely tone as his pitch lowered. Juice knew he couldn't put it behind him, and was forced to lie to one of the few people he respected._

"_Yeah. Yeah, okay." he said, tearing up in guilt and self-loathing._

_Clay rose to his feet, patch in hand. Juice stood and took the patch._

"_You earned this." Clay said, hugging the newest addition to the _Men of Mayhem_. "I love you, son." he said, patting Juice on the back._

He gasped for breath, flailing a bit as he awoke. He started coughing as air rushed into his lungs, and slowly removed the chain from his neck. He looked around, wondering why he was still alive. He noticed the broken branch behind him, and better understood why he wasn't dead.

He just couldn't catch a break. Even his attempted death became a cruel joke, a mockery of his existence.

The leg that was shot moments before he murdered Miles was now throbbing due to the fall. He ignored the pain, trying to block it out of his mind as he hazily tried to contemplate what his next move should be. Before he could think of anything, the drone of approaching motorcycles hit his eardrums.

"Shit! Shit!" Juice said, not realizing how hard it was to speak, how raw his throat felt. He stood, pulling his hood over his head to hide the bruise around his neck. He had very little time to return to the tow truck, so he was forced to leave the chained branch on the ground, and he limped away.


	2. Chapter 2: Dishonesty

A/N: I can't believe this story got sixty five views within its first hour of being on FanFiction! Don't forget flashbacks and thoughts will be in italics.

Chapter 2: Dishonesty

The closer Juice got to the tow truck, the more nervous he got. He needed to compose himself, and working out the limp was proving to be more of a challenge than he had anticipated.

He heard a loud whistle close by. "Juice? Juicey boy?" Chibs called.

He worked out the major kinks in his leg and stepped onto the road, revealing himself. "Hey." Chibs said, a look of relief coming across his face.

"Hey." Juice replied, casually sticking his hands in his pockets.

"What the hell are you doing?" Tig asked. Juice didn't even know the Sergeant-at-Arms was here until he spoke.

"I was pissin'." Juice replied, hoping he didn't respond too quickly. Pissing seemed to be his go-to excuse lately. Chibs came forward and Juice had to use everything in him to not freeze suspiciously.

"What's all this shite? Ye spill?" he asked, wiping Juice's hoodie clean. He then hooked an arm around Juice's sore neck. Juice wanted to squirm away as the stronger man's arm painfully squeezed the fresh bruise. Chibs must've noticed him flinch, because he moved his hand away.

"What's that?" he asked.

Juice wasn't surprised how fast the lie started to spew from his lips. "They got those stupid security chains all over these back roads." he said, relieved when Chibs looked away as Tig busted out laughing.

"You clotheslined one? Jackass." Tig mumbled between laughs.

Juice chuckled along and nodded. "Yeah."

"We gotta go." Chibs said as he started to head to his bike.

"What's up?" Juice asked.

"Vote." Chibs answered, straddling the bike.

"Drugs?" Juice asked.

"Change of leadership." Tig said, also straddling his bike. As the engines roared to life, Juice headed to the tow truck and glanced back the way he had come. The chain was going to have to wait. Tig and Chibs left, followed by Juice in the tow truck.

When they got to TM, Juice had to tell the rest of the club the same security chain lie as they asked about the obvious bruise. The upcoming vote had to be postponed until Piney showed up, which wasn't until the next morning. Juice barely slept at all that night, mind constantly wandering to the attempted suicide, and whether he would be able to clear away the evidence before someone found it…

When Piney arrived in the morning, and all SAMCRO members were present and accounted for, the vote for presidency began. Clay and Tig both voted 'nay', but before Chibs could vote, the window behind clay shattered as bullets flew into the chapel. As everyone bolted for cover, Happy handed out some guns from a hidden rack.

More walls and windows were shot up and the club went outside, all firing at a fleeing truck. Juice heard Clay mumble about the cops, and Tig and Happy secured a wounded shooter.

"Check his ink." Clay ordered. Happy quickly confirmed the shooter was Lobos Sonora, the rival cartel of Galindo.

"Clay?" Chucky called, opening a bag near the wounded LS member. "This is bad. Like, _bad_ bad." he said, looking up at the president with a look of fear and worry. Juice followed as Clay, Jax, and Piney approached the open bag, seeing a couple of severed heads inside.

"Holy shit." Juice said, staring in shock.

"That's Armando." Piney said.

'_Oh no. SAMTAZ?_' he thought, worried.

"_So what's going on?" Juice asked, entering the Sheriff's office. He was brought in on a bogus possession charge, and was itching to set things right. After all, he had a card for the weed and owned twenty percent of the damn clinic!_

"_Hey, I just want to have a conversation, that's all." the sheriff said, closing the door._

"_You can do that with my lawyer." he said._

"_Oh, we don't need your lawyer. I don't give a shit about the weed." the sheriff clarified, chuckling. "Please sit down." he added._

_Juice sat down and sighed heavily, crossing his arms._

"_So why'd you pick me up?" he asked, now knowing it wasn't about the weed._

_The sheriff picked up a framed picture and held it in front of Juice's face. "This is me, and my father fishing at Rockaway Beach." he said, smiling. "Now, you grew up in Queens, right?"_

Juice was startled out of his memory and faced with an annoyed-looking Chibs.

"You're with me." he said, getting in a van. Juice followed, not sure what he had missed during his little daydream. As he got in the van, he saw Happy in the driver seat and Chibs in the back seat, facing the LS shooter in the bed of the van.

They soon arrived at the gun warehouse, where Alvarez and Rafi were waiting, probably informed about the situation by Clay. Happy led the shooter inside the warehouse, pushing him around like the piece of shit that he was. Juice looked away to where Miles' grave, and his suicide evidence was, wishing the branch didn't break.

Once Hap's torture chamber was complete, the tribulation began. Hours of screaming, groaning, slicing, beating, and prodding passed before the rest of SAMCRO arrived, wanting some insight on the shooter's motive.

"He hasn't said a word." Happy said.

"You sure you didn't cut out his tongue?" Jax quipped.

Juice smiled, knowing the creative mind of Happy Lowman could very well have dawned on that idea.

"Not yet. Running out of ideas." Hap replied.

"Galindo." Rafi alerted, opening the door as another van pulled in.

'_Clay must've called them, too._' Juice thought as a handful of the cartel entered the warehouse. One of them, Luis, held a briefcase. He waved Happy aside and opened said briefcase, revealing an impressive array of torture weapons, and a syringe of a substance he called 'truth serum'.

SAMCRO was effectively banished from the warehouse while the cartel interrogated the shooter their way. When the shooter's body was dragged around back, Luis revealed what the shooter disclosed: the Mayans had a mole reporting to the Lobos Sonora.


	3. Chapter 3: Revelation

A/N: Flashbacks are in italics, people!

Chapter 3: Revelation

Alvarez had a pretty good idea who the mole was, and demanded blood. Jax and Clay managed to calm the bloodthirsty Mayan, and devised a plan: leak some false Intel that the mole would overhear, so he would report to the Lobos and get them to come out here, then they'd be taken down. Sons, Mayans, and Galindo working together.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent gearing up for the ambush on the Lobos. Clay had to leave for a fundraiser, but the rest of the Sons stayed. Juice grabbed a gun and wandered off into a corner, still reeling from the failed suicide attempt. If only the tree branch hadn't broke. They probably wouldn't even be in this situation right now if it hadn't… Chibs and Tig wouldn't have found him, they'd report back to the club, who wouldn't be able to vote; they might've even been looking for him, his body. So when the Lobos attacked, no one would have been at the clubhouse.

The memory of his first interrogation with Sheriff Roosevelt resurfaced in his mind.

"_Now, you grew up in Queens, right?" the sheriff asked, moving the picture away a bit._

_Juice laughed, not understanding where the cop was going with this. "Nobody fished at Rockaway. Not unless you wanted to fry up beer bottles and syringes. That ain't Queens. What's the game here, man?" he asked._

_The sheriff set the picture down on his desk, exactly where he had picked it up from. "Do you ever see your father?" the man asked._

"_No." Juice said, getting a tad uncomfortable._

"_I can arrange that." the sheriff said, opening a file. "Michael Howard Cole." he read, holding the file in Juice's face. "That's your daddy, Juan Carlos."_

_He returned the picture to the file; all the while Juice remained quiet, looking away._

"_Huh…by your silence, I'm assuming you already knew." he said._

"_I knew who he was…I never met him." Juice replied._

"_Now I don't know if you can tell by this picture, but, um…he's black. Like, African black." he said, studying Juice's face for a reaction._

"_Yeah, I picked that up." Juice said, barely even blinking._

_Roosevelt closed the file and set it on the desk._

"_Now, I don't know, you tell me. What would the club do if they found out that you're black?" he asked._

_Juice remained silent, knowing full well what would happen._

"_Hm? Don't know? Let me break it down for you." he said, leaning closer to the biker. "Well, first they'll pull your patch, then they make you scrape the ink, then if you're lucky enough, you can walk out alive. As far as SAMCRO is concerned, you never even existed." he continued, explaining what Juice already knew._

"_You don't know dick about my club!" Juice blurted, voice seething with aggression. He wanted nothing more than to punch this self-righteous douchebag's face in. Threats weren't going to work. The club had no issue with color. They would keep him. Wouldn't they?_

"_Yeah, you right! About dick. Nothing." Roosevelt yelled. He then pointed to the closed file. "But LeRoy? Shit, everything." he said, tossing the bag of weed on Juice's lap. "Enjoy your day." he said, sitting in his chair._

Chibs grabbed Juice by the back of the neck, startling the lad. He knew something was wrong, he had been acting distant all day.

"Come on." he said. Juice nodded and the two joined the mob at the front of the warehouse. Juice could see two vans parked outside; the farther one leaving.

On the count of three, each group approached the lone van. Jax shot out the van's headlights and Bobby checked the driver's side, saying no one was there. The Mayans came from the side of the warehouse as Galindo came from across the road. The three groups merged at the back of the van, wondering where the Lobos were. Upon Chibs' warning, everyone stepped back in case a bomb was planted inside. Alvarez forced the suspected mole, Pedro, to open the van.

Everyone took an extra step back as Pedro, still gagged, opened the back door. With the threat of a bomb being disproved, everyone gathered around and saw four headless bodies in the van to go with the four heads that were found in the bag earlier.

'_SAMTAZ may have made a mistake dealing their own crank, and they may have been a little overzealous, but they didn't deserve this_.' Juice thought sadly.

"How the hell did they know we were waiting for them?" Opie asked.

"Pedro hasn't left our side." Alvarez spoke up.

"Yeah. Looks like the competition is one step ahead." Jax said as he faced Luis. The cartel's second in command took his frustrations out on Pedro, stabbing him in the neck.

As the Mayans disposed of the body, Clay returned from the fundraiser and Jax explained the events of the night. Juice and Chibs had just finished packing up the guns and ammo, and loaded them into the van.

"I'm gonna go on ahead, meet Tacoma. I won't be able to sleep." Juice said.

"Yeah, okay." Chibs answered, sliding the last bag of guns into the van. Juice patted Chibs on the arm and left.

When he arrived at the warehouse, Tacoma was not on site.

'_Perfect!_' he thought, heading over to the tree overlooking Miles' grave. He advanced to the broken branch and tried to unravel the chain from it. He had been attempting to separate tree from chain for only a tenth of a minute before he heard twigs and leaves crunch beneath heavy boots. He spun around, dropping the chain. Chibs was standing much closer to him than he originally thought, deeply unnerving him.

"Oh shit! You scared me, man." Juice said, wishing to God that Chibs was not here. Chibs held the chain in one hand, looking up at Juice as he dropped it. The younger member of the Sons of Anarchy tried to keep his emotions under control, but he felt his face contort in terror, and his eyes well up with tears.

Chibs' strong hands gripped Juice's clothes, unable to contain his emotions either.

"Jesus! What the hell are ye doing?" he yelled in the younger man's face. Juice couldn't help but flinch away, and he was thrown into the ground, still in the clutches of the fellow biker.

"Ye coward!" Chibs yelled, his Scottish accent growing thicker in his anger.

Juice was released as Chibs crumpled down by the tree, running a hand through his hair. As the younger man started crying, feeling like he had shattered into a hundred pieces, the gentler, almost fatherly side to Chibs came out.

He crawled over to Juice, placing a hand on the sobbing kid's shoulder. "Get up, come on." he said calmly, easily lifting the kid to his feet. He was a little unsettled at how underweight Juice felt, and he mentally cursed himself. How could he not have seen it? How had he missed the signs? The bags under his eyes, the weight loss, the lethargy…he had assumed it was due to the Sheriff' hazing, and Miles' death. They were factors, he knew that much, but he never thought the usually happy-go-lucky boy would attempt to off himself!

Juice continued crying into Chibs' shoulder, and he made no objections, putting an arm around Juice as his body shook with sobs.

"Alright…come on, boy. Come on." he whispered, caressing Juice's neck with a kind tenderness most people wouldn't associate with an outlaw biker type.

"Jesus Christ, Juicey? What the hell has gotten into ye? Is it the sheriff?" Chibs asked, holding Juice by the shoulders. Juice's watery eyes met Chibs' gaze of concern for only a second. That second nearly broke Chibs' heart. Juice treated Chibs as if he were his older brother. He respected and trusted him with his life, and Chibs couldn't shake the feeling of betrayal off him.

"Talk to me, Juice." he pleaded. Juice tried to take a step back, but Chibs wouldn't let go, not now, not after all this.

"I can't." Juice spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. Chibs knew he wouldn't get anywhere if he kept prying, so he decided it would be best to let it go for the moment, even though his rational mind was screaming to find out the answers.


	4. Chapter 4: Help

Chapter 4: Help

Chibs somehow managed to get Juice into his apartment, although it was almost not an option as it took him a couple minutes of fumbling through his keys in the pitch black to open the damn door. He groped around in more darkness for the light switch, flipping it on moments later. Under the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights, Chibs' eyes widened in shock at Juice's appearance.

'_Poor boy looks half dead!_' he thought.

Juice moved to the couch and sat, hands covering his face. Chibs shut the door and locked it with a sigh.

"Ye gonnae tell me what's been goin' on?" Chibs asked, facing the zombie-esque form on his couch. Juice removed his hands from his face, but stared at the ground as he gave his answer: "I…shit, Chibs, its Miles."

Chibs approached Juice, sitting across from him on the table.

"Every time I go to sleep, or I close my eyes, I see him. Face all mangled up with bullets, blood everywhere…I keep playing it over and over in my head-"

"Ye can't do that to yerself. It's torture. It'll drive ye mad all over again. Ye have to try to put it in the past; move on." Chibs said.

Juice moved his gaze to Chibs' face. "Clay said the same thing before giving me this." he said, placing a shaky finger on the _Men of Mayhem_ patch.

"It's good advice." Chibs replied.

"Yeah, I guess." Juice said. Chibs placed a heavy, reassuring hand on Juice's shoulder.

"I'll call Jax in the mornin', meet up at the garage. We'll talk with him to figure out our next move. I won't lie; this mess ye got yerself into won't go away easily. But if anyone will hear ye out and try to understand, it'll be Jackie-boy." he said, standing up.

"Okay, yeah." Juice agreed.

"Do we need to continue sharin' our feelings here?" Chibs asked, suddenly realizing exactly how tired he was.

"No, no, go." Juice insisted.

"Ye sure yer gonnae be okay?" Chibs asked.

"Yeah. Talking about it helped." Juice said. Chibs remained where he was, not completely believing the boy. "Seriously. It felt good to unload, man. I just needed to get that off my chest." he added, still lying a bit.

"Alright. Ye need anything, I'm right here." Chibs said, pointing to his room.

"Thanks." Juice said. Chibs sighed and went to the bedroom.

_He emerged from the bushes, straightening his hoodie over the brick of coke in his waist-line._

"_Hey!" a voice called. Juice wasn't expecting this. He turned around and saw Miles approach him._

"_Hey." he replied, managing to keep his composure. "What are you doing out here?" he asked._

"_Cutting through from the guard house. What are you do-" as soon as Miles cut off his question, Juice knew he was made._

"_Jesus, you took it?" the prospect asked. Juice began to reach for the brick, realizing it was a poor decision as Miles pulled out his gun._

"_Woah! Easy, man. I'm not carrying." Juice said, pulling out the brick of coke that started the whole fiasco._

"_Shit, Juice." Miles said, aiming the gun at him._

"_You gotta let me explain." he pleaded._

"_Yeah, back at the warehouse. Let's go." Miles said, waving the gun in the direction of the warehouse._

'Shit! Come on, you can fix this. There's gotta be some way to fix this!_' his mind raced._

"_Okay. Here." Juice said, throwing the brick at Miles' face. The gun went off, tearing through Juice's leg. He screamed in pain, and a mental switch flipped as he tackled Miles and knocked the gun away. It was up for grabs, and the bikers went into survival mode. Juice wildly scanned the ground, hoping to find Miles' gun first. _

_In his frantic search, he never noticed Miles grab the rock behind him…but he definitely felt it when the rock was repeatedly smashed against the already sore area where the bullet had traveled through his leg. As he yelled out in pain, he spotted the gun and crawled toward it. He grabbed it and spun on his back before pulling the trigger. BAMBAMBAMBAM! His face was covered in the blood of the man he had just killed._

He awoke to a coppery aftertaste in his mouth. As he tried swallowing the growing lump in his throat, the memories of the previous night came to him. For a second, he thought he was about to puke all over Chibs' floor, but luckily, the feeling vanished.

"Rise and shine, Juicey boy. Jax'll be at the garage in fifteen. We leave now, we can arrive before anyone else shows up. Keep the conversation private." Chibs said as he emerged from the bedroom.

"Okay." Juice said, hoping the club's VP would help him in this particular situation.

The drive to TM seemed to pass by in a blur. A couple prospects and mechanics were already present when they arrived, but Chibs shooed them away as Jax pulled in on his Dyna.

'_What if he won't help? What if he tells the club? What if_-' he thought.

"What's going on?" Jax asked upon entering the garage.

"Crew needs yer advice, brother." Chibs spoke in a low voice, slowly pulling down Juice's collar. Juice looked away, feeling like the traitorous coward he was.

"What about it?" Jax asked, looking from the bruise, to Chibs, to Juice. "Thought you caught it on security chains." he said.

In a twisted sort of way, Juice half-wished some bull-crap lie would burst from his lips; something to make this all end. Jax's face soon cleared with realization.

"Shit, Juice!" he said, looking more concerned than anything.

"I don't know what happened, man." '_Yes you do!_' his mind spat. "I guess…doing time, the Russians, and Miles…" he trailed off, forcing the ever-present memory of the prospect's death back into the depths of his mind. '_Oh, and by the way, I'm the rat. It wasn't Miles. It was all me!_' his mind screamed. He wanted to admit it, he truly did. Chibs and Jax both ratted, and both of them admitted to the club what they had done, and the club forgave them. So why couldn't he?

"I'm not sure how we handle this." Chibs admitted.

"It was a mistake. I know that." Juice spoke up. Was it? Part of him still wanted an end to the lying and ratting and betraying.

"Alright, give us a minute." Jax said, face wrinkled in thought. Juice looked from Jax to Chibs, unable to read them. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he quickly walked out of the garage and watched the cops start to wrap up their work of processing the shootout from the other day. Staring at the ground, he thought back to the time he truly believed things would have started to get better, if only a tiny bit.

"_Juice!"_

_He was shocked back into reality. The bloody, god-awful reality he had gotten himself into._

'Damn._' he though, sitting up. '_Where's the damn brick?_' he thought, wildly looking around. He spotted the coke and crawled to it, snatching it up and planting it on Miles' lifeless body._

"_Juice! Juicey!" Chibs yelled, worry in his voice._

_He tried wiping the blood from his face, groaning as his leg began to throb. Chibs and Happy turned the corner in the path, stopping dead as they reached him and Miles._

"_What the hell?" Happy asked._

'Is he…surprised?_' Juice distantly thought._

"_Holy shite." Chibs uttered, kneeling by Juice._

"_I came out here to take a piss. I spotted him pulling something out of the leaves." he said, no longer amazed at how easy it was for him to lie to his brothers. "He saw me and he freaked out. He tried to kill me! I took one trying to get the gun." he added, knowing they wouldn't question him. _

_Chibs took the brick from Miles' body and Happy pulled his gun out, shooting the body four times in the chest. Juice flinched at the sound of Happy's rounds discharging. They were so similar to the four he put in Miles' skull._

"_Lying bitch." Happy spat, voice full of hate._

"_Did ye get him?" Chibs asked, knowing how over-kill Happy's action was. The two bikers helped Juice to his feet, and proceeded to help him to the warehouse. The rest of the club pulled in, noticing the hobbling forms nearby._

"_There. Put him over there." Chibs ordered, motioning to a stump near the fence. The two gently set him down and the sound of running boot-clad feet was heard._

"_Shit, what the hell happened?" Jax asked, eyes wide with shock._

"_It was Miles. Juicey-boy caught him pulling out of the stash." Chibs replied, handing the brick to Jax._

"_Shit, Miles?!" Opie asked in disbelief._

"_He is very dead." Happy added._

"_I ought to shoot you guys for patching him in." Clay said, placing a hand on Juice's shoulder. "Good work, Juicey." he added._

"_Yeah." he said, not sure what else to say. _

_The President turned away to his VP. "Look, uh, Romeo's gonna be here any minute." he said._

"_I'll clean this up and put it away." Jax said, leaving with the brick._

"_Get him in the van." Chibs ordered, pointing at Juice. Phil and Rat obeyed, using an unknown gentleness to help out the one member of SAMCRO that didn't automatically accuse them._

_On the way to Chibs' apartment, where Tara would patch up his leg, Juice couldn't help but think it was over. Why shouldn't he? Everyone now believed Miles was the rat, and Miles was dead. Very dead._


	5. Chapter 5: RICO rat

Chapter 5: RICO rat

Jax and Chibs emerged from the garage, and Juice slowly approached them, meeting them halfway.

"Cops are still processing the clubhouse, so church is gonna be at my mom's today. Juice, stay here, sweep the place for bugs when they leave." Jax said.

"Got it." he replied, still unable to tell what the verdict was on his status as a member of the club. Even if they decided to keep him, he wasn't going to ever really be a Son again.

Shortly after Jax and Chibs went to Gemma's, the cops finished processing, packed up, and vacated TM. Juice complied to his VP's wishes and swept the entirety of the clubhouse for bugs, finding none. He went back outside and spotted Mr. Friendly, the Sheriff, get out of his car and approach him.

"Your boys already left. Crime scene's down." he said, getting annoyed with these frequent visits.

"This is just a follow up." the Sheriff said, stopping in front of him. "You have _got_ to pick up the phone when I call you, Juice." he added in a serious, almost scolding tone as he gave Juice a bag.

"I've got six disposable burners in there, and I know you're responsible for the club's communication." he finished.

Juice barely glanced at the bag before dropping it at the Sheriff's feet. "I'm done. I can't do this anymore." he said, not wanting to further partake in the take-down of his club.

Roosevelt stared, studying him. "Jesus Christ, what did you do?" he asked, noticing the still-deep purple bruise on the biker's neck.

"Tell them I want out." he said, walking away. He managed to only get five or six steps away before Roosevelt was right by his side.

"This isn't how it works, Juice. You stop cooperating, we spill the beans on your daddy." the Sheriff threatened, stopping Juice.

"We? Oh, yeah. Your friend, the string puller." he replied, facing the Sheriff.

"Now is not the time to play smart ass." Roosevelt stated, again in a threatening tone.

"No, you always want to play who's-your-daddy. I brought you the coke sample." he said, lowering his voice. "My club? They don't know it was me. They don't know about our little chats. Now, when you arrested me, I remember thinking 'hey, maybe I can finally make the deal, be a rat, get protection, and start a new life'. But then I realized, the club _is_ my new life. And I'm sure as hell not going to try to screw it up again." he said, getting in the Sheriff's face.

"Again?...Oh, you have got to be shitting me. You tried to kill yourself? That's what _this_ is?" the Sheriff asked, pointing to the bruise.

Juice looked away, the ever-vivid memory popping into his head.

"Mark me as a rat. I don't care anymore." he said, returning his gaze to Roosevelt.

There was a slight pause before the authority figure spoke up. "I'll be back within the hour. Be here."

"And if I'm not?"

"You don't want to try me." the Sheriff said, getting in his car and driving away.

Sure enough, thirty-five minutes later, Roosevelt returned to the auto repair/biker gang double-purpose building. Juice approached the Sheriff's car, and Roosevelt only said two words: "Follow me."

Juice hesitantly started up his bike and left, knowing the club would wonder where he was when they came back to find him gone. Especially Chibs and Jax…

Roosevelt led him through the Police station without saying a word, and as they passed by the Sheriff's office, where they usually talked, Juice thought he was about to get put away even though he wasn't handcuffed. They walked right on by the holding cell area and entered a back room, where another man was patiently waiting with his back turned.

The door behind them was closed, and the leather-jacket-wearing man turned around.

"Hello, Juan Carlos. Lincoln Potter. I'm a big fan." he said.

"What the hell is this?" Juice asked, looking from the Sheriff to the new player.

"I'm so glad you asked." Potter replied, moving into an adjoining hall. Juice followed, with the Sheriff close behind. The man ahead of him punched a code into a keypad, opening the door at the end of the short hall.

"After you, sir." Potter said, moving to the side. Juice took a couple unsure steps forward, entering the mysterious room. He looked around, not believing what he was seeing. The walls were divided into sections labeled 'SAMCRO', 'PLAN B', 'REAL IRA', and more. Pictures of himself and Otto were under 'PLAN B'. The table in front of him was littered with files and surveillance photos of SAMCRO.

"Oh shit…" he whispered, realizing how badly he had fucked up. Seeing this conglomeration before him, he wished that branch never broke; he wished he had died. Because knowing he was part of this…this plot, it was almost too much.

"Have you ever seen the inside of a RICO oper-"

He lost it and turned on the man who had blackmailed him into this and screamed, tackling the Sheriff in a full outrage. He began pummeling the man's face until he was forcefully removed by some suit. As Roosevelt slowly got up, Juice was handcuffed and he looked up at Potter, who was standing on the table.

Juice tried to wriggle out from the suit's strong hold, and he was handcuffed, glaring at the man he now knew was the string puller. Another suit helped the Sheriff along, and Juice was half-dragged away as he struggled to get free.

He was thrown into a cell; the door was quickly locked as he slowly got to his feet. A couple minutes after he sat down, Potter unlocked the cell, stepped inside, and relocked it. Juice wanted nothing more than to punch that asshole's face in, but he was still handcuffed.

"We've been on this RICO operation for almost two years. It started with the Russians, and it's ending with the Sons of Anarchy; and turning Otto Delaney." Potter said. That caught Juice's attention.

"That, coupled with the MC's ongoing relationship with the cartel will give us our…historical pattern of organized crime. I have enough to shut down every charter from here to Belfast." he finished.

"No, you don't. Or you wouldn't be standing here." Juice said, barely able to contain his rage.

"I want the real IRA. I can collect you and the Mexicans without issue." Potter said, sitting on the other bench. "But the clandestine Irish, even with the help of INTERPOL, it would be impossible to hurt them. They will slither back into their secret stink holes, and the source of all my woes will still be at large." he added.

"I don't know where they are. Never met them." Juice said.

"Intelligence has confirmed that the Irish Kings are planning a trip state-side; most likely to accompany a shipment, but I know it's about a face-to-face with the cartel. Old school protocol. You're going to find out when and where that handshake happens." Potter said.

A strange noise escaped Juice's lips, almost like a cross between a laugh and a scoff. "That's above my pay grade."

"Well then I suggest you apply yourself." Potter said as he stood. "If you get me information on the Cartel/Irish sit down, I will extract the Sons from the RICO operation." he continued.

"You're just going to let us walk?" Juice asked incredulously. Potter sat on the same bench as Juice.

"No, but I won't use federal law to shut down your organization." he said.

Juice looked away, knowing this was a lose-lose situation. "What happens to my club?" he asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

"Some members of SAMCRO will have to pay for their involvement, but the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club will survive." Potter answered.

Juice turned away, refusing to go along with this anymore. The string puller soon got the message and left without a word. Juice approached the barred entrance and kicked it in frustration. He knew that either one of two things would come out of RICO: he continued to rat, found the intel on the meet between the Irish and the cartel, and his club would go down in the cross-fire. Or, he refused to cooperate, Roosevelt tells the club about his dad, and he's kicked out. He returned to the bench, wanting the handcuffs gone.

'_No matter what I do, SAMCRO dies_.' he thought, gently tapping the wall with the back of his head. He knew Potter was lying about the club surviving this. Even if the members at the take-down were arrested, Clay and Jax particularly, it would only be a matter of time before the rest of SAMCRO suffered. Unless…unless he found a way to save the club, his family.

"Hey!" he called, moving to the gate. "Guard!"

A chubby, middle-aged man approached, tossing a candy wrapper into the garbage bin. "You better have a good reason for calling me over. I'm missing my show." he said, swallowing a wad of what appeared to be chocolate and caramel.

"I have to take a piss." he said, using his go-to excuse.

"Can't you hold it?" the guard asked, visibly irritated with missing his show.

"Come on, man. I'll just go in here then." he said.

Chubby guard sighed, unlocked the cell, and led Juice over to the restroom.

"You've got two minutes." the guard said, undoing Juice's handcuffs.

He quickly stepped into the bathroom and shut the door. There was nobody else inside, just as he had hoped. He had only one shot at fixing the shit-storm he had gotten his club into.


	6. Chapter 6: Game Over

A/N: short chapter!

Chapter 6: Game Over

When he stood before the mirror, staring at his reflection, he cleared his mind and focused only on his next intentions. The man that was supposed to be his reflection was not, it was only a mere shadow, a ghost of himself. Hell, he looked like a sick animal, and he wasn't about to be killed like one. He was completely intent on taking some of those bastards out with him. He was ready to kill himself, to succeed this time. It was the only way to save the club.

As the two minutes ticked to a close, the chubby guard swung the door open. "Shake it and flush, your two minutes are-". Up. That's what the guard would've finished with if Juice's fist hadn't collided with a fleshy, jiggly cheek. As the five-foot-five-inch, two hundred forty pound ass clown collapsed onto the tile floor, Juice swiftly closed the door and removed his belt.

The guard tried to get to his feet, looking like a flipped over turtle. Getting nowhere, he reached for his gun. Juice kicked the weapon out of the guard's sweaty grasp in a single move.

"Help!" the guard yelled. Juice slid to the floor and wrapped his belt around the guard's neck, pulling it tighter as the man struggled. A series of chokes and futile resistance ensued as panic and adrenaline took over the fat, little guard. Clubbed fingers tried to pry the belt away, with minor success at first; but even though Juice had lost a little more than a little bit of weight, he was still physically overpowering the choking, flailing guard. When the body before him finally stilled, Juice released his grip on the belt.

'_Level one: get a gun. Complete_.' he thought, grabbing the gun. He left the belt by the body and opened the door, walking down the hallway in quick strides. He noticed the Sheriff turn a corner up ahead. He cocked the gun and followed, stalking the man he hated more than himself. As he rounded the corner, he realized he was nearing Roosevelt's office.

"Hey, Sheriff." he called, voice utterly calm. As Roosevelt turned, Juice held up the gun and fired once. He missed on purpose and put a hole in the door. The Sheriff reflexively took out his gun as two more cops joined him, and two more behind Juice.

"Hold your fire!" the Sheriff yelled, aiming at the suicidal caged animal that was Juice.

"This really how you want to go down, Juice?" Roosevelt asked.

"You take out my club, it's worse than dying. I get booted out, it's the same thing. So, yes, this is what I want." Juice said, firing a round into the Sheriff's gut.

That shot immediately set off a chain reaction as bullets flew at him from the other cops and two bullets punched through him. One through his lung, the other through his stomach. He collapsed, blood quickly pooling around him. One of the cops wrenched the gun away and Juice closed his eyes, feeling his lungs fill with his own blood.

Seconds later, his eyes were forced open and he saw none other than the Sheriff, safe and sound thanks to the vest he was wearing. Between coughs, Juice uttered three words: let…me…die…

He was dying, just as he had hoped. This was the one way he could save SAMCRO. Potter's Plan B wouldn't work. He would be dead in a matter of minutes, and Otto would never turn on the club. It was a 'win' situation.

"Come on!" the Sheriff yelled, his voice sounding far away and echoed.

'_Level two: kill one of these bastards. Failed. Level three: kill yourself. Complete. Game over_.' he thought, struggling to breathe. He began coughing again, his time in this world fading with every shaky breath he exhaled. He thought back to his life in Charming, with the club; the best moments of his life. His last thought before succumbing to his wounds was a dead ringer from his failed suicide attempt.

'_Things will get better now_.'

A/N: One more chapter after this. I know, I killed Juice! I'm such a horrible person :(


	7. Chapter 7: Eulogy

A/N: Final chapter

Chapter 7: Eulogy

(Jax)

"**It's about commitment, your love for the club**."

Jesus Christ…

Jax sat, motionless at the table. He knew something was up when Juice didn't arrive at Church. Clay got some intel from Unser, something big. Big enough to make Clay round up the club at 11:48 p.m.

"Something went down at the station…Juice is dead." Clay announced, never looking up.

Jax could've sworn his heart stopped. This had to be some kind of joke, right?

(Chibs)

"**We start picking and choosing which rules to follow, then…the whole thing just falls apart**."

Dammit! He should've stayed with Juice! He should've paid closer attention, seen the signs earlier!

"How did he…" Chibs couldn't bring himself to finish the question.

"From what Unser could tell, he pulled a gun on the Sheriff. Cops shot him dead." the President glumly answered.

He should've seen this coming. Juice was on a downward spiral since they got out of prison, starting with the Sheriff's frequent visits. He let out a shaky breath,, looking over at the empty chair where his friend, his brother, had sat.

(Clay)

"**Some days we ask our guys to do shit very few men could do**."

He received the call at 11:30.

"Who is it?" Gemma asked, coming in from the other room.

"Unser." he replied, answering his cell.

"_Clay, it's Unser_." the voice on the other end stated.

"You're lucky I'm still-" he started.

"_Clay, listen to me. Something's happened_." Unser said urgently.

"What?" he asked, sitting up.

"_Oh man. It's…shit, it's Juice_."

"What happened?" he asked, simultaneously throwing on clothes and listening to the ex-Sheriff's description of what went down.

"Are you sure? That doesn't-" he started.

"_Four cops and the sheriff all say that's what happened. They'd have no reason to lie, and judging by the looks of the station, I'd say it's the truth_." Unser interrupted.

"Shit. Okay, Unser." he said, hanging up.

"Clay?" Gemma asked.

"Call Tig and Bobby. Tell 'em Church is starting early." he said, rubbing a hand over his face.

"Tell me what's wrong, Clay. Please." Gemma said, stopping him from leaving the room.

He sighed, knowing he wasn't going to leave until she got an answer. "Something happened down at the station. Juice was shot, he's dead."

(Tara)

"**Normal people call the authorities when their lives are threatened**."

She had put Abel and Thomas to bed a couple hours before Jax got a call. He didn't even tell her what was going on before he left, and that wasn't like him. During the hours he was gone, she talked with George, the prospect who stayed at the house when something big was going on. She refused to call him 'Ratboy' or even 'Rat'. It seemed to…degrading for her taste.

It was a little past 12:15 p.m. when Jax returned. She knew something was wrong the minute she laid eyes on him.

"Jax, what's wrong?" she asked, approaching him as he closed and locked the door.

"Rat, could you give us a minute?" he asked, barely looking up.

"Sure." the prospect replied, obediently leaving the room. Jax sighed, sitting at the kitchen table.

"Tell me what's wrong." she said, placing his hand in hers. When he looked into her eyes, she knew he had been crying, and very few things made him cry.

"Juice was killed…shot." he said, looking down.

"Oh my god. Do you know-" she started.

"According to what Unser got, he was killed going after the Sheriff. I should've known!" he said, slamming one fist on the table, making her jump.

"How could you have known?" she asked, composing herself.

"After he killed Miles, he tried to kill himself. Chibs found out, told me. Juice said he was okay, but we weren't convinced." he said.

"You don't blame yourself…?" she asked.

Jax chuckled a little. "A little bit, yeah. Chibs and I, we truly believed he would be fine while we were at my mom's. Bur we never would've thought he'd go after the Sheriff."

"How do you know he went after him?" she asked.

"We're not…not really. Either he went their out of his own free will, set on killing the Sheriff, or he was taken to the station and tried to kill him when he arrived." he said.

The baby monitors went off and she stood to go to the kids' room.

"I'll come with you. We both need a distraction." he said, following her to his sons' room.

(Eli Roosevelt)

"**It's a lose-lose if you fight me, Juice**."

When he was helped to his feet, Juice was already on the ground, bleeding. He knew he'd have a bruise where the bullet struck his vest, but that was the least of his worries right now.

He rushed over to the fallen biker, sighing as he realized he was still, yet barely, alive. The deputy immediately called for a medic as Juice's eyes opened.

"Stay with me Juice." the Sheriff said, applying pressure to both wounds. He was grimly aware of the wheezing becoming more pronounced as Juice started coughing up blood.

"Stay with me, come on!" he urged, looking around for the medics. Where the hell were they?

As another coughing fit came and went, the trembling body that used to be a biker loyal to his friends locked eyes with _him_, the pawn used to fuck with his mind.

"Let m-me d-die…" Juice uttered, eyes starting to lose focus.

'_Shit. Suicide by cop_.' he thought, seeing the life leave the criminal's body. Roosevelt lifted his hands off the wounds as the medics arrived, but it was too late. Juice was dead…and he could've sworn he saw a small smile form on Juice's face as his breaths ceased.

**A/N**: So there you go. The end to my (and hopefully your) journey. Leave a review if you like, tell me what you think! Hate me because I killed Juice? I wanna know.


End file.
